


A Life In Glass

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-14
Updated: 2008-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://gw500.livejournal.com/"><b>gw500</b></a> prompt 'author's choice'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life In Glass

Tuesdays, Quatre decided, were not his favorite days. There was the board meeting first thing in the morning followed immediately by an executive officers meeting which invariably led to a series of one on one discussions about the status of each of the major divisions of WEI and how to maintain or improve it. By about three o'clock he would be contemplating running away from home and never looking back

If Tuesdays were bad, Thursdays were worse. Standing appointments with the building commissioner and the head of finance meant that he would spend the whole day with bits of measurements and expenses running randomly through his head until all the numbers were one big jumble of facts and figures. Any day that ended with a conference call from his image consultant was not one that Quatre looked forward to. To make it worse the weekend was close enough to see and the office was a buzz with who was going where with whom.

While other people made plans for to take in a movie or hit the newest club for a night of dancing he was stuck sorting through the masses of paperwork that required his personal attention or putting out fires that inevitably cropped up when all the executives were out of the office for the weekend. Really, he shouldn't complain. After all he was well paid even if he had no time to do anything, but bank his cash. He had an amazing car that was the envy of all the people who passed it in the parking garage. His flat was the penthouse suite in the most exclusive building in town. It was where everyone wanted to be, as the waiting list would attest to. So what if he was rarely there long enough to do more than catch a few hours on the couch?

Yet here he was in the wee hours of another exhausting Friday, standing at the window looking out over the city, above and apart from all the glowing lights. He was one of the privileged, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and envied by people who knew nothing about him or the real life he led. It was sad and ironic when you came right down to it. Something out of a Dickens' novel filled with the less than subtle messages about the need for more than cold hard cash.

The ice in his glass bumped against the sides with a crystalline tinkle, which Quatre ignored. So what if the hundred year old scotch was being diluted with plain tap water? He'd realized he really didn't want it after the first sip had done a smooth burn down his throat. Looking down at his hand pressed flat against the windowpane, palm touching his reflection, he truly understood that what was missing in his life was a chance to step down from his glass tower and just be real.


End file.
